Big Bang Tale of the 4 Millennia Past
by DessArtem
Summary: -based wholly in the anime- Now that the Originators have been defeated, it's time for some valuable, special, intimate information about the two most influential dæmons in all of the Great Demon Kingdom- the Great One and Great Sage. Here's their tale.
1. A Name Fit for a King

Based fully in the anime (though yes, I know about certain mentionings in the novels, but I'm going to pretty much ignore them :p). Nothing here belongs to me except the story, of course :)

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It was another three boring tomes later that Yuri realized something odd about every story, legend, myth, historical documentation, what have you about the Great Sage and/or the Great One.

"Hey, Günter?" he interrupted the swooning lily, who was in the middle of commenting on a recount of a minor battle in the War Against the Originators.

"Oh, yes, sire?" Günter asked with his full attention, loyal to the extreme; and Yuri only ever spoke up like this when he wanted to leave, but the flowery advisor always had hope for the spare comment or question that Yuri sometimes had for the lesson itself.

"Why do none of the records seem to have the Great One and Great Sage's names?"

Günter was stunned at that epiphany, since he'd often had a similar inkling, but had never found anything depicting their names. It was hypothesized that the Great One was a Spitzberg, but little proof could be found. Günter told his King all of this.

"Huh…You'd think that a kingdom so obsessed with them would at least remember their names…" As usual, Yuri meant no offense by that, merely naïve and innocent thought, but it caused something to bristle in Günter anyways, though he did his best to hide it and smile.

"I suppose you're right as always, Your Majesty, but I assure you that much has been done in the way of digging up that blessed information. Oh, perhaps now that the Originators are defeated and Your Most Distinguished Highness is here to lead us all to Absolute Glory, much that has been Tragically Lost can become Found Again!" Swoon.

"Hey, that's a great idea! Detective Yuri Shibuya is on the case! I'll come get you if I need something in the library. See you later, Günter!" With that quickly exclaimed, Yuri was off like a shot, pubescent energy giving him the usual jump he needed ahead of the old-ish mazoku- oddly called a dæmon in the native language.

"Eh- I- Your Majesty! I'm so glad that your noble spirit once again has that adventurous fascination with your land and culture which leads you to do such wondrous things!" Günter's eyes sparkled with devoted admiration. The text in his hands was forgotten as he clasped his hands together in some sort of gesture of worship or something, and the poor book fell to the ground.

"…Günter, what are you going on about?" said the low, gravelly voice of Gwendal von Voltaire. The man himself took up the entire space of the doorway in a rock-like wall of forest green and muscled toughness. He'd apparently been standing there for a moment, long enough to catch the bulk of Gunter's gust of gush.

"Ah, Gwendal!" said Günter, startled. "I'm sorry, I was just talking to myself, I suppose…" He immediately calmed, knowing that no whirlwind of emotion would affect the mountain personality of the man before him. Usually.

"What has that boy done now to make you so excited?" Right to the point, as always.

Meanwhile, King Yuri was at the now-mostly-vacant Tomb, since he had a feeling that he'd find good answers at the place now most-connected to the one about whom he wanted to learn, not to mention Murata was there. Well, he called him "Ken" now, since they'd been through too much for them not to have enough familiarity to call each other by their first names, though Yuri was still getting used to it.

"Hey, Mur- er, Ken!" called Yuri as he got to the center courtyard with the pond and sighted the other double-black by the water.

"Yuri! Did Günter-kyo let you go already? It seems oddly early for that. Is he sick?" Murata, who had had lots of practice with an incredible amount of different names, had no trouble adapting to the change, even though the whole castle was insisting the change in him from formal last names to informal first names.

"Do you mind if I ask you one quick question about your life as the first Daikenja?" he replied cautiously as he joined him by the pond and caught his breath from the job from the castle to the Tomb. He knew that multiple scholars and political officials had been begging the Sage to tell them all about his first life, and especially about the Great One, but he'd always refused and kept quiet about it. As usual, with Yuri, Murata looked patient and now wary, since he trusted him very much.

"Well, I can't guarantee an answer, but I suppose I'll listen to this one question."

"What were your and Shinou-heika's names?" Yuri knew it was best to just ask outright and not dance around everything with him, since he'd always been able to figure out what one was really saying anyways. Besides, it was even possible to startle the genius when one came out bluntly like this. It did indeed catch him off guard for a moment, causing the wise one to splutter mildly.

"Names? Huh. No one's even asked me that before you just did. You'd think it would be more of an obvious question for everyone." He chuckled a bit, though without humor. There was a lost, sad look in his eyes that he hid with the shine of his glasses.

"I understand if you don't want to tell me. I just figured it might help everyone learn about that past time without bothering you so much; the scholars could find the information themselves. Like, if Shinou's name was also Bielefeld, all we'd have to do is trace back that family and find out who he was." Yuri's bright face shone with hope, idealism, and understanding, eyes shining with it, smile kind and welcoming as always.

Murata couldn't help but wish he could tell him anything. "I'm sorry, Yuri, but he specifically had that sort of information taken out of the records. He wanted us to be disconnected enough to form, dare I say, a sort of religion with ideals to follow. If we were seen as so human, things would change, potentially for the worst."

"Sure, if we needed that anymore. You have to admit, dear Sage, that people don't need us quite so much these days. Right?" Both double-blacks' gazes shot to under the overhang, in the shadows, where the Great One stood at full size…and naked.

Glint, went Murata's glasses.

"Oh, Shinou! Er, Great One," he corrected in the right language, "why are you…?"

The Great One smiled, unashamed (and smug) and didn't move to hide anything. He was in the shadows anyways. "Oh, I don't want to waste my power. I've lost quite a bit since the darkness left me and I want to wait and see until I've gotten back on my feet, so to speak, and recovered fully."

"Back to the more important subject. I see that you're right," interrupted the Sage. "Don't let it get to your head, though. So, are you going to finally give Yuri and the others the information they seek?" He kept his face clear and set and barely even appeared to be looking at the Great One, who was smiling at Yuri.

"Give them the information? No." He grinned more broadly and disappeared.

"No?" cried Yuri, "But everyone'll kill me!" He didn't want to think about Günter's reaction, and then Wolfram's…

"Don't worry, he just means that he won't give it so easily. Give it a little time and you'll learn all that there is. Just don't involve me, please." Murata's voice had lost all lightness, and so Yuri promised and left him alone with his memories.

The next day, after Yuri had worked extremely hard to avoid Günter without seeming like he was avoiding Günter (which was easy, since Günter was with Gwendal for the rest of the day, both locked in Gwendal's office), a cry rang from the Tomb maidens and to the castle.

"A new secret room has been found at the Tomb?" said Yuri after he'd read the message sent to him by Ulrike. "I wonder what's in it."

"It seems like there are new artifacts and documents that haven't been seen in a few thousand years," said Yozak, who had delivered the message. "Lord Kleist will be ecstatic." Conrart took the letter from Yuri and glanced over it, but that was really all there was to it.

"Well, we'll have to go and see right away. Yozak, please go and wake up Gwendal and Günter so they don't miss anything else," said Conrart.

"In that case, maybe someone should wake one up while the other gets the other," suggested Yuri.

"No, that won't be necessary," smirked Yozak.

Barely ten minutes later, Günter was rocketing out the front door and zipping along the path to the Tomb, leaving nothing but a huge trail of flying dust behind him. Luckily, he'd remembered to put on clothes before leaving.

"Oh, my, oh, my my my!" cried Günter as he caught sight of the various soldiers, in various colors, carefully extracting dressers, strong wooden boxes, and covered paintings from inside the Tomb to the outside front where they could view it all in proper light. To everyone's surprise, the documents were fewer than they'd first thought, and the number of paintings was extensive. "What a treasure trove!" Günter exclaimed, unable to move from the shock and unable to step forward from the inability to decide where to start.

Gwendal, much slower since he was missing the rocket fuel of Günter's excitement, arrived a few minutes later to see Günter at an old desk, sitting in a chair someone had brought to him, sorting through pages while wearing his spectacles. Gwendal went over and looked over his shoulder. "How old are those? A couple decades?"

"I'm not sure." Günter twirled a lock of silky hair. "It looks like…diary pages, but they are only dated with months and days, but not years. I'm not sure whose diary it is. Where is His Eminence?"

"I believe he's back at the castle and doesn't wish to be disturbed. I'm sure you'll figure it out." Gwendal put a hand on Günter's shoulder, stroking his soft hair with his pinky.

"Hey, Günter, you're up! That was fast. What have you found out," said Yuri as he dismounted Aou the horse and hurried over to join the scene.

"Oh, I'm afraid I have found nothing as of yet," said Günter, somewhat flustered. Gwendal quickly removed his hand from Günter's shoulder and crossed his arms.

"That's okay. There's plenty of time, and it seems like we have plenty to go by. Hey, are those paintings?" Yuri went over to the growing, standing stack of paper-covered-canvas-covered-flat-ish wood.

Günter looked up and over to him. "Hmm, I suppose I could take a break and look through those with His Majesty. After all, surely they'll give us some clues as to what all of this is." He stood and went over, pulling his cloak around him as protection from the sun. Gwendal followed, since he had nothing better to do but be a container for handkerchiefs, in case a certain someone suffered excessive nasal bleeding from whatever he might find.

The first painting to catch Yuri's eye appeared to be a large portrait, much like the ones of the Great One and Great Sage in the castle hall. "…Could it be?" He carefully began uncovering it.

Behind him, once the painting was visible, Günter shrieked. "Oh my! It's-!"

And now, I interrupt this scene to begin the story. What Yuri will find is that this is indeed the information that the Great One had promised, including old journals from his higher army members (Rufus Bielefeld, Zigbert Voltaire, and others), his own battle notes and plans, the Sage's battle notes and plans, and everything else from their lives that could possibly give any indication of who they ever were, other than the divine heroes they were known as being. Everything was perfectly preserved thanks to the magic of the Tomb, a magic that helped explain Ulrike's own preservation and others. Since they are working almost backwards in their findings, I cannot let you readers know what they're finding until the very end, when that one painting is explained before it's shown. And so, please enjoy the story of Arsenio Spitzberg and Navon Kleist, the Great One and the Great Sage, from four millennia in the past.


	2. Into the Owl's Nest

Based fully in the anime (though yes, I know about certain mentionings in the novels, but I'm going to pretty much ignore them :p). Nothing here belongs to me except the story, of course :)

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Arsenio sat at the head of the table, opposite from the real head of the table, and was actually mostly silent for once. Sure, he liked lands on which the Kleist family resided, since they were wonderfully windy and had broad moors on which he liked to ride and breathe the fresh air. Game was also nicely available in these lands, and Arsenio enjoyed hunting and falconing whenever he could, with or without his entourage. However, visiting the Kleist castle was a whole other story. The castle was dank, dark, moldy, and generally unkept. The people inside the castle (though the surrounding countrymen were friendly enough) were reclusive and had an air of unwelcome about them, though they were coldly polite enough to the young Lord. The food was decent, though plain and lacking the extravagance he was used to when he visited noble houses. The conversation was, though scarce, more intelligent and less about court gossip, which was one aspect about the dinner that he greatly welcomed, even though Lord Baldassare Kleist still gave him the creeps. And that wife of his…

But, his discomfort had to wait, for it was high time to end these silly formalities and get to the point of his arrival. He had the beginning of a war to get back to, after all, and Rufus and the others staying just outside the castle were waiting for him.

"This has been a lovely meal, but I really must speak with you about my true reasons for coming here, not that this visit hasn't been pleasant all by itself," he said easily, charming and polite with no hint at his true feelings, a perfectly bred noble.

"Yes, Lord Spitzberg, speak of whatever you wish," replied Lord Kleist, taking a sip of wine.

Hmm, how to go about this delicately… "Well, as you know, I have built up an army with which I plan to do battle against the Originators."

"We've heard."

"…And I have all the very best fighters I could find, as well as the best commanders, lieutenants, and advisors I could find."

Nod.

"However, I find myself in wont of a head tactician. Many have applied for the position, but none have sparked my interest in the way I hope one shall."

"That is unfortunate. I would gladly accept the position." Lord Kleist took another sip of wine, changing neither his cold demeanor nor his set expression.

"I'm afraid you misunderstand. I do know of your great intelligence, but I have another special person in mind."

He raised an eyebrow and set down his glass. "Oh?"

"Yes. I have heard rumors of a genius tactician who lives in this very castle. Don't you have a son, Lord Kleist?"

"I'm afraid I have no idea about whom you speak. My wife and I have no son." There was no indication of his lying, or even his reacting in any way, but Arsenio could tell that he was hiding something, the snake.

He decided to cut to the chase. "My sources do not lie. I wish to meet your son. Navon, isn't it?"

Lord Kleist finally showed some sort of reaction by pressing his lips together in a thin line. Ha, Arsenio had caught him! "I'm afraid that it is highly dangerous for you to meet him. He is inflicted with a terrible curse."

"So I've heard. I am not afraid of any curse. I insist most strongly on meeting him." Arsenio somehow managed to keep his tone pleasant, though with underlying power and warning. He stared the much-older nobleman down.

"And I insist much more strongly that he remain merely a phantom myth in your Lordship's mind." Baldassare folded his hands on the table in a concluding way, looking down his nose.

"If you insist." _I shall just have to find him for myself,_ Arsenio decided, though of course kept his plan a secret.

Dinner ended and Lord Baldassare showed Lord Arsenio to his room and then slyly locked him in once it was time for bed. It didn't work, for close to the middle of the night, Arsenio easily picked the old lock and headed for the most secluded part of the castle, having had been studying a map of the castle between after dinner and then. In soft, silent slippers, Arsenio drew his woolen cloak tighter around himself.

"Gods, it's horribly drafty in this cave of a castle…" he muttered to himself, knowing none would hear him because of the small amount of staff, and because this area of the castle was obviously abandoned. The thick drapes were coated with dust thick enough to change their entire coloring, and the floor was littered with dead bugs and the occasional larger vermin along the sides of the dingy, unpolished tile floor. He could feel the cold radiating through his slippers, causing him to wish he'd worn his thick, wool boot socks instead of just bare feet in fleece slippers. The draft was so strong that it naughtily pushed Arsenio's cloak around to get at his lightly-clothed body beneath, making him also wish that he'd brought along his winter clothing (It was summer, so his winter wardrobe was back at home, ready to be sent to him in the fall). But, as always, he was too determined to give up, and so trekked forward in search of somewhere that seemed to be at least somewhat inhabited.

After a few hours, at about one o'clock in the morning, Arsenio practically sleepwalked into a closed door. He snorted to full-alertness and rubbed his poor nose, which luckily had not become broken from the impact. It was the first closed door he'd come across in this wing of the castle, and so he happily opened it.

Well, the room was certainly lived-in, but missing its occupant. So, Arsenio glanced around from the doorway. The room was simply furnished with a small bed, a small dresser, a small bookcase that overflowed so that books were neatly stacked all over the place, such as on the edges of the floor, the windowsill, precariously at the bottom of the bed, and even down next to the bed. There was no desk, and Arsenio was unsurprised; to whom would someone such as this write? Luckily, he seemed able to write, since there were some scattered papers on the floor beside the bed with neat, small handwriting. Arsenio was too far away to see what content the papers contained. This room, more a nest than a room, was definitely where his new tactician lived. Everything inside it was the result of unwanted-ness; the bed was more suited for a small child than a grown man, the books were all shabby and in desperate need of either replacement or repair (though someone had done his best with string and wax), the bookcase was sloppily made from different scraps of wood one might find around a stable or somewhere similar, and it hadn't been thoroughly cleaned in who knows how long (though, again, the occupant had done his best). Arsenio felt more heroic for all of his long searching, for not only was he finding the best tactician he could find (if the rumors were anything to believe), he was saving someone from this rancid castle. But where was he?

"I suppose it's not surprising that he's nocturnal. Who would want to spend each day with such people, even if they are one's parents?" Arsenio said to himself, not usually one to talk to himself very much, but the screaming loneliness that resonated throughout this wing begged for a human voice to break it. "Let's see, if the middle of the night is comparative to the middle of the day, perhaps he's getting lunch." Arsenio headed to where the kitchen was, taking the most scenic route. One who lived in such recluse would surely wish to have every window out of which he could see, not to mention it got him away from where people actually lived. Indeed, every window Arsenio passed had its windows drawn, and the view was of an expansive moor that had no trail on which people would ride, so one could see without being seen. The moon was bright and it illuminated the hallway enough to ease much of the dreadful interior, though it was still terribly cold, and had been that way back in the nest-room.

And then, not too far from the kitchen, Arsenio found him. Well, he found Arsenio by smashing right into him, but nonetheless. Both had been going around a corner when, having not seen him, the reclusive scholar, who had apparently been running, collided with Arsenio and fell back on the ground while Arsenio managed to recover thanks to his training. They stared at each other. Arsenio offered him a hand up. The scholar, Navon, did not take it and stood by his own power, brushing himself off. He wore dark blue, thick, robe-like clothes that appeared to have been taken from a monastery's donation box, judging by the plain, worn, robe-y quality. The outfit appeared to be much better suited for the cold castle wing, though it didn't appear that he could be at all warm right then. The recluse was too stunned to show any indication, though, since he just kept staring at the blond like a doe before a hunter. And then, like a doe, he ran off as fast as he could, but not before giving him a rushed yet perfect bow in archaic Spitzberg fash-

Wait a second…

"Hey, if you know who I am, then there's no reason to run away!" Arsenio called, not hoping too much that he would listen. Instead, he gave him a moment's start before going after him, figuring that the scholar would not realize that he knew where his room was. When he got there, the door was indeed shut once more, and further inspection found it to be locked with an even older lock than the one which graced the guest room door in which Arsenio was supposed to be. He could get through it in a matter of seconds, but felt that would be even ruder than sprinting away from a higher noble without a word. Instead, he tried to get him to open it himself. "Say, there's no reason to feel threatened by me, you know. I merely wish to converse with you and perhaps recruit you to enter a highly formidable position in my army. You needn't worry about much combat, since it would be strictly tactical work. Hello? Are you listening? Please open the door? I can pick through this lock easily, but I want to give you the freedom to do so. At least speak?" Arsenio pressed his ear to the door. He could hear nothing except…was that wind through an open window? In a matter of seconds, as promised, Arsenio opened the door and looked in. A rock held down the loose papers by his bed and the window was suddenly open, which were the only indications of his having been in there moments ago.

Well, that was a bust. So, Arsenio decided to see what those papers were about. He shut the window, leaving it unlocked, and sat on the small, creaking bed to glance over them. He remembered how tall Navon was, even taller than himself (which, unfortunately, was fairly common), and his mind shifted momentarily to how dreadfully uncomfortable it must be to sleep on a bed a third the size of oneself. Plus, the blankets were thin and ragged and were wholly unsuited for the weather inside. Anyways, the papers were notes pertaining to a war of…wait, it was his own war, at least the first few battles that were all that had happened so far. There were comments, especially criticism, which left Arsenio raising his eyebrows in awe. He himself had noticed some of his own mistakes in plans, but the ideas that this man had come up with to improve strategies, as well as future plans for movements…were all so very brilliant. The rumors about this man's intelligence had not been lies. Arsenio's fascination got the better of him and he scoured the room for anything else he could learn about him. He found more notes on more battles, as well as ones on works of literature, other cultures, and even famous people. He couldn't find anything about himself, but there were notes on his elder brothers and sisters. Psychology was not much of a part of any study, and yet this man was considering them when it came to motives of actions and other such behaviors, even though he didn't appear to know much about people other than what was purely objective. It was all amazing. But why couldn't he find himself? What especially caught Arsenio's eye about everything was the objective, calm tone of each paragraph before him.

"I'll kidnap this man if I have to," Arsenio decided, "but that would be such a waste of such an interesting personality. I'll just have to entrap him and convince him gently." He put everything away and decided to try to gain a few hours' sleep.


	3. Tactical Maneuvers

I think this is about the longest post I've done on here that was a page part of a longer fic :p Anywho, yeah, quoted directly from episode 68, but I had to, yano? Hopefully, the extra description I added makes it less repetitive for you :) And so you know, the explicit stuff'll be coming up right away in the next page.

Enjoy! Nothing belongs to me 'cept Baldassare and yeah, I totally named the horses. Can you figure out what the names mean in what language? ;p (hint: I translated offa Yahoo! Babelfish Translator)

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The next morning, Arsenio had a plan. He announced his leaving and sent his men to hurry along without him a ways, giving Rufus his robe so he could hide his hair and look like Arsenio was part of the entourage. Arsenio himself hid on his horse in some woods overlooking the general outlay of the land around the castle. He was an amazing tracker, so this young man couldn't get away from him. All he had to do was wait.

Finally, sometime at mid-afternoon, Arsenio spotted a brown horse carrying a tall rider. He was surprised, and somewhat glad, that Navon was out so early (for him). He hoped Navon hadn't gotten into any sort of trouble, though didn't see how; no one knew they'd even met. Perhaps he just wanted to get some fresh air before dark, so he could read and be able to see without bringing attention to himself with a fire. Arsenio waited a bit more. Navon dismounted the horse under a large tree, which had large roots, and sat on one of the larger roots with a book and, like Arsenio suspected, began to read. Arsenio gave him a few minutes to settle into a reading daze before mounting his own horse and riding over.

On the way, he saw that a huge cloud of darkness spreading over the large hills to about the east. Navon noticed them as well, since he glanced up and over, though without reacting at all. After a moment, he looked back to his book, but then noticed Arsenio coming. The proud blond decided to let himself be smug, though only subtly.

"So, even as destruction draws near, you seem to be calm," he said, arriving with that as a greeting to perhaps try to throw the dark-haired dæmon off a bit. All he got in return was a wary, distrustful look and a narrowing of the eyes and slight furrowing of the eyebrows. Clearly, Navon was not happy that he had found him, and even less happy that Arsenio was on a horse while he was not, so there was no way he could escape this time. Arsenio returned the look a bit, only a bit more warningly, since he didn't want him to run. Then, he couldn't help but smile at him, since he was cute in a way. "Well, your hair really is black, and so are your eyes, I see." It would be best to get that out of the way, since then he could reassure the other that he meant no attack.

"Although it's fine to have a healthy curiosity, nothing good can come from associating with me. After all, I bear the cursed signs of a double-black," he replied with a hint of conviction, putting emphasis on the word "cursed." Yes, there was that test Arsenio expected.

"Others may feel that way, but I find that color intriguing." He hoped Navon would get the joke and was thrilled to see Navon look away a bit, a slight smile gracing those thin lips as his face actually softened. If he didn't find him intriguing, he wouldn't be there, now, would he? Since Navon wasn't about to run away, Arsenio dismounted the horse, glanced over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't moved, and then turned to step closer and face him properly, putting a hand on his hip in a way of saying, "Here I am, so go ahead and look at me and see that I am open and trustworthy." "Besides, I came here specifically to get you," he said out loud, making sure it was clear that he had a more noble reason to find him than just to see his hair and eyes.

Navon had his eyes lowered, looking somewhat worried. Arsenio kept his strong confidence and smile and said, "You see, it is my firmest desire to make good use of your unique knowledge and wisdom."

Navon closed his eyes thoughtfully and with a somewhat underlying frown. "For what purpose?" Ah, lack of self-confidence, perhaps? Or lack of confidence in Arsenio? This person was getting more and more interesting.

"To do battle against the Originators and their army," said Arsenio boldly and frankly, looking over at the slowly-spreading darkness for emphasis. Navon did the same, deciding that looking over there and not having to meet Arsenio's eyes was more agreeable to him.

"You want to fight them? Do you really think you can defeat the great power possessed by the Originators?" Slight awe. That was good.

"Trust me, it can be done." It was easy for Arsenio to talk about this, which showed how sure of it he was. To his delight, Navon finally looked him in the eye without negative feelings.

Arsenio stepped over to him. "With your help," he said as he extended his hand for Navon to take. He was confident he would take it, even though he still had that bit of distrust in his eyes.

After a flash of amazed astonishment, Navon smiled in a way that made Arsenio's heart leap to his throat. "Either you're an enormous braggart, or else you're some kind of legitimate hero." He looked up at Arsenio with that smile and also some admiration, and then closed his book with a snap, not even bothering to mark his place. And then, he took his hand and stood.

Arsenio smiled warmly. "I bid you most welcome, most formidable scholar. I know you'll be a most treasured head tactician." He let go of the hand of Navon, who followed the lead and let his hand fall to his side. He bowed in an ancient Kleist fashion to tease him. "I'm Arsenio Spitzberg, though you seem to already know that."

"I could tell you're a Spitzberg, but I wasn't sure who you were exactly," Navon admitted. "Though, what you yelled after me led me to conclude that I was correct." He smiled a tiny bit again, somewhat awkwardly, clearly not used to the expression. "I'm Navon Kleist, though I know you knew that already." He did the funny Spitzberg bow again, though only a bit, since it wasn't completely needed.

"By the way, I hate to correct you, but that book from which you learned to bow…is so ancient, the bows have long since changed." Arsenio smiled a bit apologetically, though couldn't help but be teasing. Navon blinked confusedly at him. "Allow me to demonstrate. Most Kleists just bow like this now." He crossed his right arm diagonally over his abdomen and bowed a little. "And people don't bow in the fashion of other countries much, except when welcoming someone to their house."

"I know; that's what I was doing."

"Well, I can assure you that I felt fantastically welcome…until you ran away, that is." Arsenio winked. Navon looked away again, though Arsenio wasn't 100% sure why. "Don't worry about it; I understand completely." He put a hand on Navon's shoulder. Navon flinched a bit, but didn't pull away. Arsenio's smile wavered a moment, and then he removed his hand and held it before his mouth to clear his throat. "Well, we'd best return to your castle so you can pack. Is this horse good enough for long periods of travel?" Arsenio gave the double-black some space and went over to inspect the horse with an experienced eye. "Ah, he's delightful!"

Navon looked up and over at the strange man who had just somehow coerced him into running away from home and joining the largest collection of people one could ever find in one place. Clearly, he was used to getting his way, since he didn't seem to have any problem with the length he went to in order to force Navon to hear him out. He was overconfident, but then again he seemed to have reason to be. He gave off that strong air of being able to reach the heights to which his overconfidence (and probably ego) carried him, and that was probably why Navon found himself being drawn in like a moth to flame without his fully realizing it. Even though Navon had built up all that kept him apart from people, more so than his looks, that kept him from making connections with people, this Arsenio Spitzberg had easily waltzed on in on his dark-grey-almost-black horse and knocked those down with some simple yet powerful words and an extended hand. Navon was still wary, and yet something inside of him sparked to a small flame that perhaps this would turn out not so bad, but perhaps even very good.

Arsenio looked over at him with those crystalline blue eyes, still smiling. "Well, this is an excellent horse. You take good care of him. He'll do well for you in the war." He led Navon's horse over so both horses could meet each other. They seemed pleased with each other and even nuzzled. "And look, they like each other. Now you have to come with me, or else your horse won't be happy. What's his name?"

"I never really named him. There was never much reason to."

"Oh, well, let's think of something. Blauw might suit him, because of the pretty color of his saddle blanket." He patted the brown horse on the neck.

"Blauw is a good enough name as any, I suppose." Navon went over to the newly-named Blauw and mounted him, since Arsenio had gone over to his own horse, whose name was Schwarzes, he then learned, to mount up as well. They headed back to the castle as Arsenio caught him up with recent happenings, as well as making sure he knew who all the important advisors and the like were.

"Oh yeah, are you aligned with an element?" asked Arsenio about halfway there.

"No, I'm afraid I don't possess any magic powers."

"Really? None at all? Have you ever been tested?" Arsenio gawked at him a bit, though luckily Schwarzes knew to not run into any trees or boulders.

"Well, no, but if I had magic, I believe I'd know, wouldn't I?"

"Perhaps. Well, we'll just have to see about you, then. It would be handy to have someone aligned with wind, since we're at a loss for those. I'm aligned with water, by the way." He continued telling him about how they'd sorted some dæmons with certain magics together, and which of Arsenio's inner circle possessed what. He then mentioned their excellent healing force, and then they arrived at the castle, where Baldassare was waiting for them. He was angrily looking down his nose again, metal-grey, bushy eyebrows furrowed darkly. "I have a feeling your father is some sort of psychic," Arsenio whispered to Navon. Navon said nothing, too busy looking at his father with a spark of apprehension and…fear? in his eyes as he tried to hide in his half-neck-height collar. He was tenser than Arsenio was after a long, hard battle practice with Zigbert. And yet, there was also resignation, as if he'd known this would happen and also that there was nothing he could do about it, so why bother.

"Lord Spitzberg, I thought you had gone earlier this morning," said Baldassare as if nothing was wrong, ignoring his son for the time being.

"Yes, well, I had to coax him out of hiding somehow," said Arsenio, sitting tall in his saddle and refusing to let the much-older dæmon intimidate him. He pulled his horse sharply ahead of Navon's to shield him slightly.

"And you see, he does indeed show obvious signs of an appalling curse. I would hate for you to suffer for it, Young Lord, so it would be best for you to hand him back over to me and be on your way. There is no way he could be of any possible value to you." Baldassare stood his ground, still giving Arsenio a powerfully heated look beneath those eyebrows, now with his chin lowered so the effect was much more terrifying. Well, to Navon, who backed his horse up a bit. Unfortunately, they were now surrounded by Kleist guards, of which there were just enough to surround them fully. Arsenio didn't break his gaze, and yet he seemed to know they were there, and so grabbed Navon's reins to stop him from running right back into a spear, continuing to keep his gaze locked to Baldassare's.

"He is completely valuable to me. I insist most adamantly that he come with me." Arsenio's voice remained level, though with a low tone of warning. He remained perfectly calm, which infuriated the old Lord, who also kept his cool, though less so than Arsenio.

"This is a most foolish act on your part, Young Lord. I firmly implore you to see reason. He is too dangerous to take among your army."

"And it is much more dangerous for me to not take him into my army." Arsenio's hand moved to the hilt of his sword and he flicked it up a bit so a bit of the blade shone, clearly serious enough to fight for his tactician. This caused Navon to stare at him in absolute shock, but he dared not say anything.

Baldassare's eyes flicked to the sword and a flicker of uneasiness flashed in his eyes. "…If you are so decided in stealing that monster away, then so be it. But I am not responsible for anything that comes of it." With a cloak swish, he turned and walked back into the castle. The circle of guards dispersed and followed him in through the gate. "START THE CLEANSING CERIMONY NOW!" Baldassare called. Moments later, a cloud of smoke rose from where Navon's room was.

"My books!" Navon exclaimed, about to go in, but Arsenio still had his reins so all he had to do was tug to keep Navon from rushing to try to save his things.

"Leave them. There's nothing you can do," said Arsenio darkly, since he realized something. "We'll get you more clothes and things in a town away from here. Let's go now." He turned Navon's horse and led him quickly away from there, tying the reins to the back of his saddle where Navon couldn't reach, but then Blauw would follow somewhat behind.

They rode for an hour in silence, finally emerging from Keist land and into a deep forest. It was getting dark, and yet Arsenio kept going. The moon would be mostly full, so they would be able to see. From among the trees, they couldn't see the sunset, and yet they could see that the sky was changing colors.

Finally, Navon spoke at this time. "They were going to burn me in my room, weren't they?" he said dully, staring down at his saddle horn and sitting slumped, dejected.

Arsenio looked back at him, melancholy and still somewhat dark. "It seems so. He looked forward again, and down. "I apologize. I believe it's my fault."

"No, this was probably going to happen anyways. I should be thanking you for saving me, and yet…what's there to save?"

"Don't say that. You seem wonderful to me. And I don't believe in any silly curse, so don't worry about that."

"Since everyone else believes it's a curse, it is a curse because they believe it and…"

"I see… So, I'll just have to do my best to change how society sees you."

Navon couldn't help but smile a bit. "Okay, now I'm starting to think you're really just an enormous braggart."

"Well, I managed to convince an entire army of people that it's possible to defeat the Originators, so changing people's views on those with black hair and eyes should be relatively easy."

"If you say so…" Navon was too tired to argue. He was slumping both from the weight of sorrow over his shoulders and from a general disability of being able to hold himself upright. It was all he could do from falling off the saddle. He yawned deeply and almost did so right then, but a strong hand on his shoulder held him straight.

"Just hang on. We're almost there. See that light? That's my entourage's campfire." Navon blinked his eyesight clear and looked. Indeed, there was a fiery glow just ahead of them. "It's probably good that you stayed up all day, since now you can get into the right sleeping pattern." Arsenio kept his horse pressed gently against Navon's and continued to keep a steadying hand on his shoulder. It wasn't so scary, that hand which so frightened his father by threatening to unsheathe his sword. But why was that one sword against a group of guards so threatening? It was probably because Arsenio was famous for swordplay or something, though Kleists were usually known for that…Hn… Navon was almost too tired to think, and so stopped before his wandering mind wandered too far to dreamland.

"Here we are." Arsenio stopped the horses at the edge of the small camp. There were ten tents strewn around in a sloppy circle, at the center of which was the campfire. Arsenio dismounted and lent Navon a hand in getting down without falling flat on his face. "Hm, they didn't set up a tent for you, though I know we have one for that purpose. Must've figured I'd fail or give up. Oh well. That one's mine, so you can go ahead and sleep there; I'll just squeeze in with my friends." He began caring for the horses. "Don't fall into the campfire."

"Are you sure you don't mind? I could just sleep outside."

"Nonsense! You need a good night's sleep for tomorrow, since we'll be heading back to where my army is stationed. It'll be a few days' ride from here. Go to sleep. You can borrow a nightshirt from my pack in there."

Navon didn't argue and just went over to the tent. Inside, he didn't bother with much besides taking off his shoes and cloak, and just flopped down onto the soft furs, pulled the wool blanket over him, and fell instantly asleep.


	4. In Which Arsenio is Sandwich Meat

Look out! This is pure smut! Specifically, it's Arsenio crawling in with Rufus and Zigbert and getting himself thoroughly molested :p So, if you wanna skip ahead of this because you're NOT EIGHTEEN ., then do so and don't worry about missing anything. I'm writing this so you don't have to read this part to still get the story. It's just a nice little extra I'm adding since my gf and rp partner never wants to rp these fun bits, but I still want them in there :p So yay!

Anywho, I own nothing except for the story.

* * *

Meanwhile, while Navon slept deeply in the warm furs on Arsenio's cot, which allowed him to stretch out his legs and move about as he pleased, Arsenio himself finished caring for their horses, tethered them, rose the fire, and then slunk over to Rufus and Zigbert's tent. He pulled his boots and cloak off, stashed them into a corner, and crawled ever so carefully between the two warm bodies of his friends.

His friends, who immediately rolled over to pin him, especially Rufus. Zigbert just rolled onto his back, knowing he'd get pulled into this sooner or later.

"You're late," growled Rufus, oozing teasing displeasure. "I take it you found it?"

"Him, Rufus, for the last time, he's a man like any of us, though quite a bit younger. Poor thing, you should have seen how he was living. And Baldassare Kleist is as nasty as ever, but then he was worse…" Arsenio buried his face in Rufus' shoulder, not really crying.

Rufus let out a little huffy sigh. "Fine, whatever you say. I guess if he does have a curse, it will be you who catches it, which is fine." Rufus shifted. "Are you aware that you are wearing far too much clothing? It's ridiculous." He sat up and pulled Arsenio forward by his collar. Instead of continuing the game, he made himself clear by kissing him.

Arsenio kissed back, perfectly fine with letting himself be led. He tried gaining some dominance by getting his tongue through Rufus' lips, but Rufus' tongue forced his to submit. They twisted and tangled and twirled while Rufus, with some help from Zigbert, easily got the blond out of his clothes to match them both, who were already naked from earlier carnal bonding. He was already starting to harden, but they were just getting started.

Zigbert, pulled into it, sat back against the pillows with his General in his lap, running his hands over that smooth, muscled chest and stomach while he nipped and bit and licked at his neck and shoulder, causing Arsenio to close his eyes and tilt his head back in the most erotic pose possible, with his legs stretched out and everything (except for one thing) absolutely limp in bliss.

"Nn, ah, Rufus, ow…ng…" Arsenio started squirming when Rufus attacked his nipples without mercy, biting and pinching at the same time. He made more of the most animalistic sounds, eyes squeezed shut and mouth falling open as electric shots ran through his body. Rufus was warm, unbearably warm, a result of his alignment with fire, and Arsenio was losing his mind from it.

The sandwich meat was throbbing hard in mere moments, mewling for mercy and moaning for more. Zigbert reached down for a bottle of oil that heated when it made contact with skin. He practicedly slathered some on his three fingers and shifted Arsenio so he could reach his hand down and start poking a finger into him. Arsenio gasped and arched his back, only giving Zigbert an easier time, more ability to get his entire middle finger in. He crooked that finger and rubbed hard against a certain spot inside that caused the man to writhe in absolute ecstasy. Another two fingers had him dripping more precum than a burning candle dripped wax in an hour.

"Tch, wimp," chided Rufus as he traced little circles under the base of poor Arsenio's cock, causing it to twitch repeatedly. Not that he himself wasn't dripping on Arsenio's leg as well at the sight of this trapped angel, since he was. Arsenio ignored him, just enjoying this simple stress-reliever.

Zigbert stroked oil onto himself, running his fingers up and down and closing his eyes at the sensation of the heating oil, and then opened his eyes again to guide himself up into that cavern of hot and TIGHT, feeling each pulse of muscle, each shudder, and hearing each gasp and moan from the perfect body before him. He gave this stage of lovemaking a moment in order to let Arsenio adjust to the large intrusion before he began to move slowly in and out, grinding his full length as a start.

Rufus, for his part, finally and roughly grasped Arsenio's dick in his hand and pushed his own beside it, holding them together with his hand and squeezing just so. He took in a breath, finding the pulsing of Arsenio's to be quite interesting on himself, and continued squeezing a bit before starting to run his fist up and down them both.

Arsenio was lost in the sensations on either side of him, all thought, stressful and non-stressful, melting away like butter. He gasped loudly when Zigbert sped up his thrusts, causing Arsenio to rise up off the cot with each and lower back down in between. It was more of a workout this way than simple exercises, but so much more satisfying. Rufus sped up as well, in good sync with his lover (Zigbert) and they all spiraled. Faster, faster, faster, and then explosions of fire shot through them all as they all came at once, in perfect sync as always, even in battle. A decade of practice had assured that these dances of war and sex were polished to perfection.

Spent, they curled like cats under the blankets after cleaning up, and then drifted off to languid sleep.


	5. In Which Navon has a First Morning

Okay, no smut here :p And no Navon torture yet, just some minor torment, but meh XP

Nothing belongs to me 'cept the story.

* * *

The next morning, Navon woke up to find himself somewhat disoriented from an interrupted deep-sleep stage. He blinked his eyes open to find wherever he was mostly dark, though with some light filtering in through the canvas. A tent? When did he get a tent? Usually, when he was locked outside, he just slept out in the open. And what was all that noise outside? Was there someone important coming again? Not that stupid…Spitzberg…Wait.

Navon sat up, the warm, wool blanket slipping off him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and remembered what happened, regaining his cool easily. The noises outside must be the entourage getting ready for the day and he was in a tent because that's where he fell asleep. Oh, he was in Lord Spitzberg's tent because no one had set one up for him. Figures. Oh well. At least Lord Spitzberg was kind, for now at least.

Navon pushed the blanket fully away and turned to face the interior and look around. He was surprised at how plain and practical the tent was, but then again, it was probably not the usual tent the Lord had. This was a simple travel tent. Yes, all that was in there was the bundle of furs to serve as a sort of mattress, the blanket, pillow, and a good-sized duffel bag. His cloak and sandals were where he'd left them, on and next to the duffel bag in the corner. The "bed" took up two-thirds of the tent and the duffel bag was touching both the side of the tent and the edge of the furs, so it really was tiny. He doubted even someone shorter than Arsenio could stand up in there.

Anyways, it was time to start the day. He was starving, since he hadn't eaten the day before except for a quick breakfast very early in the morning before everyone got up. A wonderful smell drifted in through a crack in the tent flat.

Just as he was trying to smooth his hair with his hands, since he was without a brush and didn't dare touch the Lord's bag, a man-shaped shadow showed up at the front of the tent. "Hey, are you up yet? Breakfast is ready and we want to leave as soon as we can, though there's no real rush," said the Lord himself. Navon didn't know how to answer, and so a blond head poked in through the flap. "Oh, you are up." He went in on his knees and put down a bundle of clothes next to Navon's legs. "Here, these should fit, though they'll probably be somewhat baggy. Either way, they're clean and should do until we get to the little town sometime after lunch. There's a stream over yonder so you can wash up. There're soap and towels in a bag over there. You should have plenty of privacy." He said that last sentence in an authoritative way, as if he absolutely knew he would have privacy for some reason.

"Thank you, my Lord," said Navon as politely as he could work out, bowing a little in the new Kleist way.

"You don't have to bother with formalities unless there's a real need for it. Just call me Arsenio." He smiled. "And I'm sure you won't mind if I call you Navon, right? Saying 'Lord Kleist' just reminds me of your father and I rather dislike him."

Navon couldn't help but smile a little, for the fifth time since meeting this character, which was probably more than he'd smiled in his entire life. "As you wish," he said, somehow unable to help keeping a tone of indulgence with this man, who was certainly spoiled, though not in a bad way (so far). Well, Navon had already done everything he'd asked with wonderful results, so maybe it wasn't so bad. He did get a good night's sleep in such a comfortable place and now he was going to be allowed to wash in privacy and then would get a good meal under his belt, not to mention a job he'd be starting sometime soon that let him use his intelligence and skills to the greatest. He almost pinched himself to make sure he was really awake.

Arsenio nodded and left to return to the others. Navon pulled on his sandals, checked his hair again, and pressed the clothing bundle to his chest to act as an anchor as he steeled himself to leave the tent and pass the entourage of militaristic men.

Of course, they stared, but the only one who looked anywhere near hostile was a short, blond, feminine-looking man sitting next to Arsenio, who nudged him and caused him to focus back on his food. A couple soldiers smiled nervously before going back to their own meals of some sort of stew with bread and cheese, but most of them just stared. At least Arsenio's smile was genuine and reassuring, which made Navon feel less anxious enough to start walking toward where Arsenio had pointed was the direction of the stream.

When the double-black had disappeared, Rufus went, "Hrmph," and said, "He looks like a soft breeze could knock him over. I doubt he even knows how to hold a sword, much less use it." He stuffily took a sip of water from a tin cup before him.

"Well, that's why I brought you along, isn't it? You can start training him once we've gotten some more distance between us and Kleist residence," said Arsenio sensibly as he stirred his stew a bit with his spork.

"I'll do what I can, of course, but I can't guarantee much if he doesn't have what it takes to improve."

"I don't think it matters that much, since I just need him for his mind. I'm planning on keeping him as far from combat as I can."

"How can you do that when you're so focused on protecting him? You yourself won't be able to fight and we need a strong leader out there. Besides, what if a couple enemy soldiers manage to sneak around and corner him? He needs to be able to keep himself alive until someone can step in."

"You're completely right, which, again, is why I'm trusting you to help him."

"Of course you are. You're too soft to be able to train anyone properly." Rufus poked him in the leg with his pinky. "Alright, he should be clean by now. I'll go make my inspection." He stood and brushed his hands together before heading off toward the stream.

"Don't scare him too much!" called Arsenio after him, though he didn't stop him. He knew Rufus shared his beliefs when it came to curses, since Rufus had always been the more practical of the two, so wasn't worried about him harassing the poor man…more than he would anyways, that is.

When Rufus got there, the new guy was sitting on a fallen log in nothing but a towel around his waist, trying to get his hair to cooperate. They had no conditioner, since they had to be stingy when it came to extra supplies like that, so it must have been difficult. Rufus lay in wait until he finished and then walked out and cleared his throat to make his presence known. The double-black jumped and turned, still sitting, and looked at him with wide, nervous eyes.

"Relax, Arsenio sent me. I'm Rufus Bielefeld, the recruitment and drill officer, so I need to see what we can do with you in the way of training." He stood about two yards away from him with his arms crossed. "Gods, you're so skinny…Ever hold a sword before?" Head shake. "No martial arts training, I presume?" Head shake. Rufus sighed in annoyance. "You wouldn't last two minutes against an enemy soldier. Stand up and let me see if you have anything for muscle, or if that's just pampered fat on your bones." Since the double-black had gotten somewhat used to him, not that he was exactly relaxed, he stepped over to him. He seemed calm, and yet flinched away when he got close. Rufus ignored that, since he stood as told, and started poking and pinching at his arms and such. "So, what's your name again?"

"Navon Kleist," he said in a level voice, showing as little fear as he could, though his small, unconscious movements gave it away.

"Skinny as a twig, but without fat. Your legs aren't good for long riding, so that'll get uncomfortable quickly, but you'll adjust. Weak arms, but decent hands. You should get your hair trimmed a bit, though Arsenio won't want you to cut it much shorter than that."

"That doesn't seem practical," Navon couldn't help but comment.

Rufus smirked a bit. "I'm sure you'll learn in time about that. Anyways, when we get you some clothes, we'll have to find you a sword. Until then, you can borrow one for training, which won't start until we get far away enough from your parents that Arsey calms down."

Navon couldn't help but snort a bit at that nickname. "Arsey?"

"Which only I'm allowed to call him," Rufus snapped proudly, "since we've been friends since before you were born, little boy."

"Yes, sir." It was still amusing. And Rufus was getting less and less intimidating, since he was gruff yet nice enough, Navon supposed. Also, it was hard to take someone that short and feminine seriously, not that Navon dared not take him seriously, since he clearly knew what he was doing.

"Hmph. Get dressed and come eat so we can go already. I've learned all I need for now." He turned on his heel and left. Navon, somewhat flustered, dressed quickly and returned to camp a few minutes later.

Awkwardly sitting between Arsenio and a gap from which the men had scooted away so no one was there, Navon quickly devoured some decent food, since he really was absolutely starving. Around him, the men chattered over their empty bowls and full stomachs while Arsenio mostly watched, sometimes participating. Navon was surprised at how quiet the General seemed, since he was so friendly, but he supposed he did have a quiet demeanor about him. It was comfortable to be near him, he realized. After a bit, he finished, feeling much better now that he was satiated, and everyone packed up in the blink of an eye and were on their way.


	6. Facts, facts, facts!

Wow, can't believe I waited this long to post this, since it's been written for a little while now Oh well. Better late than never, and I've been able to do some good editing, so that's good.

Anywho, a bit of a transition, I guess, and a reference (for me ) of Arsenio's family members' names as well as Navon's mother's name (Mus and I always remember Baldassare, since we use him for all kinds of good Navon-torture in our various AU rps x3). Now, I'm writing a bit of an explanation about a few points, just to both recap and fill in some cracks so there's better explanation of why Mus and I decided on a few things, so that'll be up later today.

Nothing belongs to me 'cept the story.

* * *

Back forward in the present, everyone had gotten the paintings uncovered and spread out on stands or hung out against the wall or other brought-out furniture and were looking at them all.

"It's more paintings of Shinou and Daikenja," said Yuri to himself. And then, he translated more clearly for everyone. "I guess there are more paintings of the Great One and Great Wise Man. I thought there were just the two."

"So did we," replied Gwendal, who wasn't busy being a hyperactively-excited Günter. It was just the three, meaning Gwendal, Günter, and Yuri, plus Dakaskos and some other soldiers and staff who were helping. It was quite early in the morning, even for soldiers, so the others weren't quite up and about yet. Luckily, though, it was summer, so they had enough light.

"Well, yeah, that's because it's been hidden in that chamber for 4,000 years," said the mini-Great One, who had just appeared on Yuri's shoulder right then.

"Bwah!" went Yuri.

"Oh, Your Supreme Majesty, the Great One!" squeaked Günter as he finally took notice of something other than the paintings. The Great One just smiled at him and, though it was hard to tell since he was so small, looked Günter over from boots to hair. Günter bowed in the most recent Kleist fashion, which was definitely different from when Navon first learned.

"Hello, Günter von Kleist. I see you're enjoying my life's collection." Arsenio gave his most charming smile, eyebrows quirked in an interested way, though less so interested at what Günter was doing than Günter in general…

"Oh, yes! I must say, if it's not to forward, that it's such an incredible shame that such wondrous treasures were hidden away for so long!" Günter was, of course, oblivious to the glint in the 4,000-year-old pervert's eyes.

"Yes, I can't help but agree." Once he'd gotten his eyeful, the Great One turned his head to look over at the assorted, sorted paintings, specifically the ones depicting the Sage. "Well, it's now time to reveal to everyone who we really were." He looked back at Günter, slight sadness in his eyes, though he kept his face direct. "My name is Arsenio Spitzweg."

Oh, one can imagine the reaction in the lavender lord. His eyes widened, his mouth parted in a small "o," and his entire body froze more than when he was Snow-Günter. Gwendal quickly stepped to his side in case he fainted, but luckily, he didn't. "Your…name…," he said in a sort of mumble. "You're…You're connected to the Spitzweg line!" Günter immediately rushed to the desk, where he had a few pieces of paper for notes and a quill, got them, and went back over to start taking notes. "Arsenio Spitzweg! Who did you marry, did you have children, who were your parents and siblings, where were you born, what's your favorite color, who did-"

"Günter, don't worry, I'll tell you everything." Arsenio smiled his absolute-best charming smile, and it worked. Günter blinked, blushed, and smiled a little. "Let me start by telling you about my own family, and then I'll fill you in on my Sage. My parents' names were Silvia and Bartleby Spitzweg and I had five siblings: Cadfael whom we called Chay, Barrett, Calantha, Bidelia, and Annabelle. For some reason, our parents named us in that odd pattern. Yes, I'm the youngest of the boys, and am actually also the youngest of the entire brood. I spent much time with Bidelia and Annabelle, since Calantha was busy learning to be a lady while the other two were still in the nursery. My parents were loving and attentive to all of us. I suppose that's all there really is to say in general. Oh, and the Bielefelds are also directly descended from my family, though I guess you know at least that."

"Wow, it's so impressive that you've done so many wonderful things, even as the youngest son of such a great family," said Yuri. Japanese families tended to treasure first sons and raise them to rise above all else, though this world seemed to do things by ability, since Wolfram was so highly looked upon while Gwendal just had to do a lot of work…

"My family doesn't really have anything to do with it. I set out to defeat the Originators because I felt I could, not because my family raised me to do anything great. Chay was bred to be the heir to the Spitzweg clan and Barrett would either marry into a noble family or stay on to support Chay."

"And what about you?" asked Yuri.

Arsenio just shrugged in response. "Anyways, my family was very confused at my decision to start an army. I was already in a strong, stable military position that wouldn't put me in much danger, so they didn't understand why I would put myself into such a terrible arrangement. But, they supported me any way they could. It was through their social networks that I found my treasured tactician. Speaking of which, I'm sure you want to know as much about him as you do me."

Günter, who had been scribbling notes furiously throughout Arsenio's telling, piped up and said, "Yes, of course! Any lost information you could give us would be most valuable!"

Arsenio smiled one of his most charming smiles at him (again, oi) and winked, causing Günter to pause in his writings to blush. Gwendal shifted. Arsenio said, "Whatever you wish. I would have liked my original Sage's soul to have been given back to me by now in his rightful state, and then he could tell you a few things, but I suppose it's up to me." Everyone stared at him, since this was an odd thing to say. He continued as if he hadn't said anything of the sort. "He had no siblings and his parents were Baldassare and Lamara Kleist."

At this point, as I'm sure you all expect (if you're paying attention), Günter dropped his quill and turned his face to as wide an expression as physically possible, and probably then some. "K-Kleist?" he squeaked, unable to believe his ears. His mouth was like that of a fish, trying to form words to express the feelings of shock and wonder inside of him, but not quite able to. His hands shook, his knees wobbled, and his eyes bulged. "Kleist?"

Arsenio chuckled. "Yes, Günter, Kleist. You are a descendent of Navon's familial line. Congratulations. I thought there was something I liked about you." That caused Gwendal to shift again and clear his throat. Günter was too busy blushing from such an honor to notice the flirtations or the jealous Gwendal.

Yuri, who had been silent until now, piped up. "Alright, so we know about your parents and siblings, but what about marriage and kids? I'm sure Günter wants to know so he can figure out exactly who is from what exact line, or something like that."

"In Navon's case, you'd have to look at his aunts and uncles, because he had no children. And neither did I. Any Spitzweg descendents come from my siblings, since most of them married and had children." He smirked a bit. "We both married, however."

"Really? To whom?" squeaked Günter, managing just barely to stay cool with all this incredibly new information.

Of course, Arsenio chose at that moment to disappear again, leaving them hanging. Günter moaned a bit in disappointment, but was once again distracted by looking over his notes to make sure he didn't miss anything, since it was all so valuable, and began making a few hypotheses and listing leads he had to follow to fill in all the family lines. He had much work to get done, not to mention cataloguing all that had been found in the Tomb storage room. So, Günter was out for the count if anyone needed him.

"Well, he's an odd guy," commented Yuri casually, filling the silence. Gwendal "Hmph"d and turned to helping Günter and making sure the pale dæmon's attention on this whole matter was purely objective and for scholarly purposes.

From a window back at the castle, Murata looked over to the Tomb. He couldn't see it clearly, but it looked like a lot of old artifacts had been in that chamber. He had memories of sitting as the tall Navon for painting after painting which Arsenio had ordered from all the best artists. It had been dull and left his neck terribly stiff, but Arsenio had done his best to help by reading to him during the sitting and then giving him an unnecessarily-thorough massage… Oh, that had been good. Memories of it almost turned Murata on, but he was straight in this life, and they were just memories. Anyways, that had all been so long ago… It made it more strange that they were all coming up now. He'd wondered where those paintings had gone in the couple lives he'd spent back in the Great Demon Kingdom, and there they were, apparently. Why did Arsenio have them stashed away since before his death after having so many painted? Why did he put them in the Tomb? …Oh, that was obvious. He obviously wanted to be able to look upon them while he was trapped in the Tomb. Murata blushed a little. He really had cared so much…and…had also known he'd be trapped for so long, alone. He knew he would suffer for thousands of years and be that lonely, and yet he still ordered it to happen. He was so…

"Hey, Ken," said Yuri, interrupting Murata's thoughts as he entered the room. He'd just ridden back, since Günter and Gwendal were being a bit boring. "I promise I won't ask you any more questions, since I know it annoys you. Still, wanna hang out? Everyone else is too busy with those artifacts, which are cool, but really repetitive."

Murata adjusted his glasses and put on his friendly smile and tried not to think of how similar it was to the old smile he used to give Arsenio when he was Navon. "Sure, sounds like fun. I'd be glad for the distraction."

Yuri nodded, understanding. It must hurt to have so many painful memories coming up again, especially since he couldn't escape them so easily with the world around him, which was focusing greatly on that most painful past. So, Yuri thought of something they could do while the rest of the castle went crazy with the past. "You know, we could probably go back to Earth for a while. I'm sure mom'll have some delicious curry waiting for us to eat to pass the time. Plus, I could grab a few more baseballs to bring back."

Before Murata could respond, Shinou appeared again in full-naked-size. "You're not leaving already, are you? Don't you want to know more about Navon and me?"

"Well, I know I'll learn more once they get all the facts started, right? I'll just wait until then," said Yuri.

"Ugh, facts, facts, facts!" complained Arsenio, waving his hand dramatically dismissively. "Stories are always more enjoyable than prattling off dull facts when it comes to history." He winked at Murata, who kept his mouth shut in a word-and-expression-containing line. "Let me tell you about the first time Navon started learning swordfighting with Rufus."

"Are you focused on humiliating me today, or is it just a new practice of yours?" asked Murata levelly, glasses flashing.

"It is the next point of interest in our general story," explained Arsenio. "The history books tell a bit about when we met, though leave out everything that happens at your- er, his parents' castle, which is all the fun stuff, but I don't feel like telling that. They just put in the heart-warming part, which is pretty accurate, but whatever. Anyways, when Navon started learning swordfighting…"


	7. RANDOM EXPLANATIONS

THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER  
but it is connected to BBT, so bear with me :p You don't have to read if you don't want, but in case you wanna know why Mus and I did a few things the way we did them, then here ya go *shrug*. And that's all there really is to it XP

* * *

Okay, I know there's a huge thing about who exactly those two really are in relation to the noble families and such, especially with the novels, drama cd, blah blah blah oh so confusing . But, since this is technically a bit of an AU (has to be), I'm going with my own version. Mus and I figured Navon to be a Kleist because the Kleists seem to have a similarity to them. Navon and Gunter even seem like they could be related, you know? If you think about it. Our au-Kleists even keep those similarities in powers, intelligence, and a couple personality traits (amount of scariness varies :p wait 'till we write something with Kain in it...). As for Arsenio...check out Celi. She's really our main inspiration for making Arsenio be mostly a Spitzweg (I know, I changed the spelling, but I got the first four DVDs and that's how they spell it, so I tried changing it and now I'm used to it. I'm sticking with the manga spelling of Kleist, though, since I like it). I know that the Bielefelds are also connected to him, so I'm going to say that there are many connections, both marriage and some blood that happens, between the Spitzwegs and Bielefelds, but it's all so complicated and such that it's not weird for Celi to have married Wolfram's father and had a child with him. There's 4000 years of changing relations, after all. Hence, it was really difficult for Gunter and other historians to track backwards and find out just who the Great One and Great Sage were, even though they have pictures to study. I'm sure they knew about the connection between the Spitzwegs and Bielefelds thanks to, apparently, the many Maohs the Bielefelds sired and other famous connections I'm sure happened (in the canon of this fic, that is). They even managed to know that there were Bielefeld Maohs up around Arsenio's time (as Valtrana tells us at the beginning of the 3rd season).

On another note, I'm sure there's much debate out there about Arsenio and Navon's siblingships. Well, I wanted Arsenio to have a big family because they're all incredibly fun to rp and that's the main reason. Also, I see him as having been in a big, loving family, but one that was too big for him to really have stood out much, especially as the youngest son (whose brothers were probably just entering about Conrart's-age-group-sorta-age when he was born). His never having had responsibility, but still having that personality of being caring, hardworking, noble, and loyal, fits in with how his main motivations seem to be boredom and nobility. I'm sure there was more to his motivation for building up his army, but we don't seem to know much about that (unless there's something in season 3, which I don't know), so I'm putting it across as everyone thinking it was an out-of-the-blue, random thing he decided to do. That may not be the true reason, and it probably isn't, but he says he's not going to talk about it to anyone, so that assumption stands. And as for Navon, I'm going by the personalities of his OC parents. His parents are, as you've seen, cold and calculating. The state over which they rule is small and nearly-impoverished, though they're not bad when it comes to ruling; it's just hard when they're on the edge of the country and isolated from it (Kleist is canonly by the ocean). Anyways, all noble families needed an heir (which is probably somewhat archaic in the present-GDK, since it's less of a big deal because of all the homosexual marriages, not to mention adoption is seen in a better light, as seen by the mass-acceptance of Yuri and Wolfram adopting Greta). Baldassare and Lamara needed an heir, so had a child just for state-stability's sake. And when he turned out to be a double-black thanks to a combination of paternal and maternal traits (I think), they stopped with children immediately so there would be no chance of another one. As you saw at the beginning, Baldassare takes great responsibility over creating such a horrible, evil curse-holder, so keeps him pretty much locked up and away from people (it wasn't mentioned, but he had guards stationed in certain areas that lined a inhabitant-less area, i.e. where Navon went by the woods to read, so Navon couldn't wander off into the town or run further). Hence: no siblings.

Okay, let's see, did I forget anything? I'll add to this if anyone out there has any questions! Just leave them in the comments/reviews or send me a PM and I'll do my best to clear up anything. This is a pretty big project, since Mus and I have put quite a lot of hours rping chunks of it and talking it over and figuring it out, so I'm sure there's much below the tip of the iceburg. Or, hey, if you just want me to address something, just go ahead and ask; I love to talk at times and would be glad to see any interest at all in my work :p.


End file.
